Linda R. Quennec: Of That Dance

Spring '13 TOC


Attic room with dust-frosted window, my ice skates on the wall
Tenacious woodpecker wanting entry
Furtive spiders haunt the far corners, wax malevolent

I was the split-lipped resident of musty places

Unused things, a long-forgotten, still-preserved thought
Slivers of childhood sadly captured
Better discarded for joy's impermanence

Swaths of polluted water under indigo horizon

Sixteen boxes unlabelled
Flesh and bones rise into dust tornados
Shake, don't open

Silvered paper leaves fray and dance in the winds of a distant city




Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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